


What Are Friends For

by Feralious



Series: Darkness Lurks Inside His Heart [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Serial Killer Chilton, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralious/pseuds/Feralious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick Chilton hadn't thought he'd be caught for the murders he'd committed. Imagine his surprise when he took the fall for murders that weren't even <i>his</i>.</p><p>You should be scared of a serial killer with a grudge. Especially if you're the one who put him in prison. Even more so if he's friends with Joe Carroll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are Friends For

**Author's Note:**

> Because I came across [this](http://thelilnan.tumblr.com/post/83253283320) post where someone suggested an AU where Chilton had friends and I felt obliged to use this gif:
> 
>  
> 
> And because both [patrick-jane](http://patrick-jane.tumblr.com/) and I really wanted this I thought - heck, why _not_ do this. So I did.

It was a good thing that Jack Crawford had never bothered to delve into Chilton’s past, at least no further than when the first Ripper murder had occurred. If he had, he might have found that he had a sealed juvenile record. Had he obtained a warrant, he would’ve known that this wasn’t the first time Chilton was suspected of murder – and that he had in fact been tried for one.

Years ago, a young Frederick Chilton had already been curious about the way the mind worked, in particular the minds of criminals. He wondered where their dark, twisted thoughts stemmed from – where his _own_ sick thoughts originated, and whether there was a way for them to disappear.

He’d been young, naive – had thought suppressing them would be enough. But one night he had snapped, had tracked down and violently murdered the boy who had always made fun of him in middle school for supposedly being a nerd.

Because he had plenty reason to want the kid dead – the entire school remembered that time when the boy had lit Frederick’s cherished psychology textbook on fire – he had immediately become the prime suspect. But by the time he was sixteen Frederick had already spent so much time studying criminals that getting rid of the evidence and getting his story straight was second nature to him.

Everybody thought he did it, but no one could prove it, and thus the court had declared him not guilty. The second time he killed no one had ever even thought to mention his name.

Frederick Chilton was the only one who truly knew what thoughts lurked inside his head; what he was capable of.

Well, he and Joe Carroll.

His fascination with serial killers had reached an all-time high when the former professor had been convicted of the murders of fourteen young women, and Frederick, studying to be a psychiatrist at the time, had seized the opportunity to interview him.

He hadn’t planned on it, but in the midst of the conversation he’d admitted to Joe that he, too, knew what it was like to feel the hot red blood spill over your hands, for it to stain your face, the smell so strong that it’s like you’re on drugs, _that_ ’s how elated you feel.

Joe had dropped his voice to a whisper, asked if anyone knew. “No,” Frederick had said. “Just me, and now you.”

Joe asked if he wanted to do it again, but Frederick had shaken his head, told him he was learning to manage his urges, that he didn’t want to risk losing control ever again. The man opposite him had seemed to understand; told him as much. “We don’t choose who we are, Frederick,” he’d said. “But I admire your determination and your strength. It makes you... quite unique.”

If anyone had ever asked him whether he considered Joe Carroll a friend, Frederick Chilton would have told them no. Would deny ever having spoken with the man. And aside from that one time they had, for the remainder of Joe’s incarceration Frederick didn’t talk to him again.

Still, Joe Carroll was the closest thing to a friend Frederick Chilton had.

He knew that even while he was holed up in the Virginia Central Penitentiary Joe looked out for him; knew it from the moment he set foot in his own home after he got back from his visit and wasn’t arrested on the spot, because it meant Joe hadn’t sold him out.

Frederick was constantly torn between admiring him and wanting to understand him, but not because he was still trying to understand himself. He was intrigued by the darkness that was buried deep within Joe Carroll’s soul; wanted to know what it felt like to let his own darkness consume him whole.

But Frederick was scared. Scared of being caught, of not being able to go back after he truly acquired the taste for blood. He had grown accustomed to his life, the name he’d made for himself, his house, his freedom. Yet Joe’s words still echoed in his ear.

“It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste.”

One night, listening in on a conversation between two of his inmates – Frederick Chilton had just been appointed Administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane – he’d found his true purpose.

What better way to be of help to the leader of a cult made up of killers than to cherry-pick possible additions? Being in the position of administrator he was able to study their personalities, their pathology; able to determine whether they would fit within the group, if they could be of use to Joe Carroll.

Even without dirtying his hands for Joe Carroll, Frederick still considered himself of major value to him, and prided himself in that. Aside from Matthew Brown, who had taken a shine to the hospital and him, all of his selected candidates joined Joe’s cult once they left the hospital, either after they were released – Frederick was sure to put in a good word for them – or went on the run pending their trial.

Joe Carroll was very appreciative; Frederick knew it. Even though he still hadn’t spoken to him even after his escape, he dutifully aided in building his group of followers. Maybe not all of it had to do with Joe – he had quickly noticed that the thrill of finding an inmate who was a perfect psychological match for the cult was very similar to the high that a kill brought, almost enough to completely quench the thirst – but part of him still felt grateful for the trust the man had placed in him.

The blond woman sitting in front of him on the other side of the glass partition was a surprise, though. She motioned for him to pick up the phone as she did the same and he begrudgingly obliged.

“Dr. Chilton?”

“Yes?” he said, narrowing his eyes, wondering if he’d ever seen her before and why she knew his name.

Her face broke into a smile and he felt they would’ve shaken hands if they hadn’t been separated by an inch of glass. “Joe would like to thank you for your services. He is most pleased with your contributions.”

He was still wary, but knew the only way she could know this information was if she knew Joe Carroll herself, and if he trusted her, so should he. “It has been my pleasure,” he said, his face relaxing. “And an honor,” he added.

“After all you’ve done for him, he feels it’s only fair he helps _you_ now,” she continued. “He asks for you to please accept his offer.”

He fell silent, the phone almost slipping out of his fingers, the implications of what she was saying slowly descending upon him. _Joe Carroll_ was personally offering to help him. Even without Joe actually having done anything for him yet, he felt immensely grateful.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m just not sure I’m worthy –”

“You’ve more than proven yourself, Frederick,” the woman told him, a gentle look on her face. “He wants to do this for you.”

And then his lips were curving into a grimace as he looked up into her eyes, the possibilities suddenly endless. But he didn’t forget where he was; didn’t suddenly lose the carefully crafted safeguards that had protected him all these years, until Hannibal Lecter framed him for murders he _hadn’t_ committed.

He didn’t ask for Joe to kill Hannibal Lecter. Didn’t want to risk getting tried for conspiracy to murder. He just asked her to give him a message.

“Hannibal Lecter put me in here,” he said, his eyes darkening as hers stayed perfectly innocent. “Please tell Joe to send him my regards.”

“I will pass on the message,” she smiled, then, right before she hung up the phone, told him, “Hang in there. Everything will be alright.”

Frederick smirked at her, waited for the guards to return him back to his cell. Yes, everything was going to be alright now.

It was a damn shame he wasn’t going to be the one to slash Hannibal’s throat himself, but this was the next best thing. Hannibal Lecter was going to get what he deserved, and perhaps Frederick Chilton would become a free man once more. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to reclaim his fame and go home, but with Joe out of prison, who knew what could happen. He’d heard about Joe’s plans to get all of his followers together in one place, and while Frederick preferred to live alone, it was exciting to think about the prospect of being around people who shared his urges, his feelings about Joe Carroll.

The darkness was starting to nibble at his sanity again, and as he sat down on his bed, he used the techniques he’d learned to push it away once more, only this time thinking that soon, he might no longer have to restrain himself.

Part of him hoped Joe could get him out of here before he got his hands on Hannibal, but on the other hand, he was patient. He would wait as long as it took for Hannibal to get what was coming to him, and if Joe couldn’t facilitate his escape – that was okay. He would have his revenge, which was the most important thing of all. He could always spend his days manipulating his fellow inmates to amuse himself, maybe find a few more additions for Joe Carroll’s group.

If you’d asked Frederick Chilton whether this was what he had envisioned his future to be like, he would’ve told you no. It wouldn’t be because he’d thought he wouldn’t end up in prison, or that he would be going down for something he had actually _done_.

It would be because he never thought he’d find a friend he would trust with his life. And in Joe Carroll, he had found that friend.


End file.
